


Thoughts of a November Day

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: An extraordinary day, Cuddles, Kissing, Love, M/M, No Angst, no case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: Just love all around.





	Thoughts of a November Day

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun,” John whispered against the sleep-mussed riot of dark curls resting on his shoulder. The soft, rhythmic breaths against his neck continued uninterrupted, although…

“Am I Juliet, then?”

John tittered. “No.” He sighed. “You’re much prettier.”

Sherlock chuckled. “John.”

“...you being all mysterious with your...cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.”

“A very silly notion.”

“Not to me,” John gently protested.

“I believe you are positively biased, you are a romantic after all.”

“As are you, my love.”

“Please don’t take out an advert. It will ruin my international reputation.”

“Well?” John responded in a sing-song, high-pitched retort. “It might..”

“No, John, it will not complete me as a person, as you are so fond of saying. “I am complete. Have been since the day I met you, more so now that we are a we instead of two us..es.”

“Grammatically, that makes no sense, Sherlock, but the sentiment is profound. I love being a we.”

“I concur, John. Now, after last night’s festivities-”

“The Halloween party or the after party festivities when we got home?”

Sherlock sighed. “Must I again praise you for your masterful performance of last night?”

“No, my ego is healthy enough. Your responses were the highlight of all of Baker Street.”

“Ugh, I think not.” With a deep-throated chuckle, Sherlock rolled out of bed and offered his hand. “Come, Romeo, join your pretty Juliet in the bath. Following, you shall prepare our repast.”

“I love it when you quote William, the Bard.”

“John, that was not-”

“I know, I know, I’m not a genius, but-”

“You are my genius, John Hamish Watson, in all the necessaries.”

The pinking of John’s cheeks drew Sherlock close, his long arms surrounding him. “You are so necessary to my survival in this world.”

***

Following a reciprocal cleansing as Sherlock pronounced it, they strolled hand in hand to the kitchen.

“Full English? Or toast and jam?”

“Toast and jam, I think, John. And tea.”

“Of course.”

“A news moratorium today, and I silenced our phones as well.”

“All right, but won’t you be bored without a case?”

“No, I have you to keep me thoroughly occupied.”

“How so?”

“Oh, kissing, lots of kissing, cuddling, and other interesting things.”

“Ah, I see. And I will observe with intent.”

“Indeed.”

***

John’s not so acute observational skills allowed Sherlock to pocket his phone before dashing down the stairs to collect the post. While there, he slipped into Mrs. Hudson’s flat to send a text and returned with John none the wiser. 

Less than an hour later, there was a rap of the knocker on the door to the street. 

“John, would you mind answering the door? Mrs. Hudson is not in at this time.”

Sherlock aided him to rise from the sofa with a hand on his bum.

“Oi, watch it, Mr. Holmes.”

“Just go, John.”

“All right, all right, I’m going.”

Sherlock grinned behind John’s back, and only barely managed to hide it when his doctor turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“I may not be the most observant man..”

“I will not argue with that statement, John.”

“But you are up to something.”

“Hmm.”

“And, Sherlock?”

“Yeeessss?”

“ShuT uP.”

“Very well, John.”

There was a bit of conversation that wafted up the stairs, but it was too indistinct for Sherlock to pay it any mind.

The thud of the door and John’s returning footsteps alerted him in time to shutter his self-satisfied smile as he dashed to the window.

“Sherlock?” 

“Hm?”

“Did you know there is a new florist on Baker Street?”

“No.”

“A P. Precieux Floral Creations?”

“I believe Mrs. Hudson mentioned her to me. Said she was a new acquaintance.”

“She certainly is a vivacious woman.”

“Yes, if I remember correctly, Mrs. Hudson said she is a professional singer, and as Mrs. Hudson is a former dancer, they get along quite well.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“These flowers are for me.”

“Really?” Sherlock turned from the window. “Ah, yes, they are lovely.”

“They’re for me? Wait, there’s a card.” John looked up from the card, his eyes awash with tears. “From you.”

Sherlock padded across to where John stood just inside the door.  
Gathering him against his chest, he kissed John’s forehead. 

“If of thy mortal gift thou art bereft, and from thy slender store, two loaves to thee alone are left, sell one, and with the dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.”*

“They’re exquisite, Sherlock.”

“As are you. You are my hyacinth. You feed my soul.”

When John’s tears brimmed and overflowed, Sherlock tenderly captured them with the pad of his thumb.

“I wanted this day to be just ours so you would know how much I love you.” Lowering his head, Sherlock covered John’s mouth with his own.

***

Later, much, much later, as they lay in bed in the deep of the night, Sherlock held John in his arms, his thoughts drifting back to the dawning of the day. 

Never in his life had he ever imagined that someone, one John Hamish Watson, would want him, damaged, imperfect him, to love and cherish. 

For most of his life he was alone, because he thought alone protected him, but secretly wishing, although he denied it to himself and everyone else, well, perhaps the Bard said it best.

Reaching back into his mind palace, the words coalesced into the richness of another William’s thoughts.

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,  
I all alone beweep my outcast state  
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries  
And look upon myself and curse my fate.  
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope  
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed.  
Desiring this man’s art or that man’s scope.  
With what I most enjoy, contented least.  
Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising,”

Sherlock paused, his chest tight as he kissed John’s temple, careful not to stir him from his slumber.

“Haply, I think on thee,” he whispered against John’s fair hair. “And then my state, like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate.  
For thy sweet love remembered, such wealth brings, that then, I scorn to change my state with kings.”**

On that day when this diminutive, soldier doctor crashed into and tore down all his protective walls, he was alone no longer.

“Haply, I think of thee,” he whispered again, as John sleepily curled into him. Sherlock gathered him close, holding him fast to his chest.

“Sherlock?” came John’s voice in barely a breath.

“Shh. Go to sleep. I’m right here.”

“‘Kay. Sherlock?”

“Yes, John.”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome, John. Go to sleep.”

“Sherlock?”

“Don’t be annoying, John.”

“If I’m sooo annoy-ing, why did you choose me?”

“I am not the person who chose you. My heart chose you, the heart I was reliably informed I didn’t have, chose you.” 

John was quiet for several moments, wriggling even closer than Sherlock thought possible.

And he sighed his unique sigh.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“I luff you.”

“And I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> *Saadi, Persian poet (1184-1283)  
> **Sonnet XXIX William Shakespeare


End file.
